


Huddle

by Corellian_Angel



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode V: Empire Strikes Back, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Barbecue, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Gambling, HanLeiaSecretSanta, Hoth, It's a hormonal mess on Hoth, POV Leia Organa, Party, Piracy, Pre-Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, Romance, Tight Spaces, Turning a trope on its head, a ton of cliches, and a few easter eggs too, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 23:52:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13201260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corellian_Angel/pseuds/Corellian_Angel
Summary: It's a mess on Hoth; freezing cold, hungry stomachs, a base under lockdown and an errant smuggler as their only hope. It's all fun and betting games, especially when Han Solo gets into a tight spot with a certain princess.  A pre-ESB romp with the Rogues, jealousy and a warming dose of confined space cuddles thrown in. So, to aesthetically-pleasing-bitch in the 2017 HanLeiaSecretSanta fanfic exchange on Tumblr...please enjoy, and have a happy holiday season!





	Huddle

This is for the 2017 HanLeiaSecretSanta fanfic exchange on Tumblr.  My assignment was Tumblr user **aesthetically-pleasing-bitch**. Preferences were for ESB era Hoth UST, with Rieekan, the Rogues, jealousy and a warming dose of confined space cuddles thrown in. So, to aesthetically-pleasing-bitch, please enjoy, and have a happy holiday season!

 

Extra candy canes to those who find the occasional obscure Star Wars trivia easter eggs in the fic!

 

A/N: warning:  Nope, don’t own any of this. Disney does, and George used to. And I thank them both.

 

Beta by [justinegraham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustineGraham/pseuds/JustineGraham) **.** She is gifted with the patience of a benevolent goddess, and the work ethic of a gathering bee. I gave her a marginal piece and she made it into something much better. ( how was I missing so many commas!?) Plus she’s the bones behind any good dialogue. And she provided the Beta, despite the fact I owe her, _bigtime_. ( I’ll get back to that other project. I promise!) Thanks so, so much, my dear; for everything! 

 

Timeline: Star Wars rebellion era. pre-ESB Hoth

* * *

 

**Huddle**

 

* * *

 

The first cautious note of relief was when the three Imperial class Star Destroyers finally exited Hoth’s system. They’d been hunting a rogue Imperial admiral-turned-pirate warlord in the sector. Unbeknownst to the Empire, there was a Rebel base newly situated deep beneath the glaciated surface of the sole rocky planet able to sustain life. And with a group of pirates and the Empire on the prowl for Rebels and pirates both, the rebels were hunkered down in their icy enclave, under siege conditions without their enemies in orbit above even aware of them.

 

After a nine week outright blockade, and a base of shrunken stomachs, the disheartened and freezing souls of Hoth’s Echo base greeted the first of an incoming dozen Alliance and trusted independent contract smugglers. The ships cruised in under a heavy rain of meteorites flung from the nearby asteroid belt. Each ship carried anywhere from medical supplies to munitions to rations and, blessedly, fresh food. Celebration was in the air, and all hands were on deck to unload the vessels as quickly as possible, as the Imperial hunters could return at any moment.

 

Or at least it seemed so, until a half dozen snubfighters were delayed in their return, along with one of the key contract smugglers.

 

“Where is the rest of your escort group?” Princess Leia Organa queried the sharp-eyed pilot descending the ladder off his X-wing.

 

Wedge Antilles dropped off the second last rung of the ladder and saluted the base’s head of command. “Your Highness, the remaining members of Rogue and green squadrons are delayed due to a diversionary tactic.”

 

“Is this the unauthorized operation you alluded to upon approach?”

 

Wedge, in typical laid-back Corellian attitude; rolled his shoulders and drawled, “Yeah, about those destroyers and that warlord.” The pilot made a show of studying his helmet’s scuffed patterning. “One of ours overheard an Imperial signal. A couple of us went to investigate the source, when we noticed a wounded Interdictor Star Destroyer launching a pretty fancy looking CR90. One thing led to another, and a couple of us ended up stashing the empty corvette near Anoat.”

 

Leia’s gaze narrowed. “Stashing the corvette,” she repeated carefully.

 

Wedge was already backing up, bowing and grinning. “Oh! Hey! It’s Commander Skywalker!” He waved at the approaching blond pilot, “Luke! Her Highness was asking about the guys that are late.”

 

Leia’s attention and her present ire swung to Luke. Luke looked chagrined, and then glanced accusingly after Wedge, who was already halfway across the hangar at a jog. “Right. Out with it, flyboy.”

 

A half-strangled sound emitted from the throat of the Jedi apprentice, and he shifted from foot to foot uneasily. Luke began in a mournful whine, “It was only a suggestion! I didn’t think Han would act on it….”

 

* * *

 

Trailing smoke and sparks, the Millennium Falcon hobbled in an hour after the last of Alliance freighters. When the ramp finally lowered, Leia stood at it’s base, silently rehearsing her greeting for its captain. Though it could hardly constitute as a _greeting,_ considering the invective he was in for.

 

_Piracy._

 

As related to her by the duly intimidated Skywalker, and backed up by a madly grinning Antilles and their flight log data, the Falcon and a handful of snubfighters were playing a cat and vrelt game with the Imperials and the local warlord, trying to draw away either threat. Or, preferably, both. Just as the Falcon lured the ex-Imperial’s Interdictor into the feathered edge of Anoat’s Oort cloud and into a slow moving comet cluster, the Falcon sent out a modified high band distress signal, intended for Imperial ears. And then the Falcon did what she did best, evading and frustrating the enemy until she got the hell out of there.

 

It was fifteen minutes before the first of the local Imperial fleet arrived from hyperspace. With two of her sister ships close in behind.

 

At the twenty-five minute mark, the pirate’s Interdictor was a ravaged, flaming heap of scrap, with five Imperial ships performing a fiery coup de grace on their traitorous kin. And all the while, the rebels watched and listened from subspace just out of range. When the corvette emerged limping from the underside of the Interdictor, it seemed to vanish into the parent vessel’s fireball.

 

With the traitor vanquished, his Imperial hunters no longer had reason to remain in-system. The Rebel base was no longer under lockdown, and the skies were about to be declared clear. It was a daring operation that brought a rare bit of reprieve to the Alliance, until the Falcon rendezvoused with the Rebel’s snubfighters, when the limping CR90 corvette materialized out of its cloaking shield in front of the assembled Rebel ships, and radios on both sides went momentarily dead in astonishment.

 

It was the Rogue fighter squadron Commander Luke Skywalker who dared wonder aloud if Han Solo could really do a classic boarding party raid against some wannabe ex-Imperial pirate—

 

The rest, as they say—is classified...Or rumours; though thoroughly embellished with exaggerated versions of possible facts.

 

So when the ramp lowered with only a pair of furred Wookiee legs to be seen. Leia’s anger died in her throat. Instead of a scathing interrogation, her first words were laced with worry.

 

“Where is Han?”

 

* * *

The Falcon was chocked full of fresh foods. Not only fresh; but premium cuts of meat, exotic fruits and vegetables, aged cheeses and an incredible variety of herbs, infused oils, and overly luxurious ingredients. All were fit for strictly human consumption, and many carried trade seals from Imperial held worlds. This was supplemented with her regular intended cargo of fresh rations and regular supplies.

 

They put priority on unloading the Alliance cargo while Leia and her protocol droid C-3PO laboured to catalogue the rest, with the Falcon’s Wookiee co-pilot providing necessary details. Only select personnel were allowed to board and unload the freighter, the members of Rogue squadron were nearly always welcome. And Luke and Leia of course, too. It became an elite group of Rebels that grunted and slipped while emptying her hold. The mood was wary, optimistic, and the cynical jokes began to fly about how appropriately named the mess was. Especially when they predicted what the dire result would be when an army cook got their hands on actual quality ingredients.

 

It was when they got to the hold of Mar-fruit, that it came to a full stop.

 

Chewbacca barred the hatchway with his long arms and furry frame. He made a series of complicated vocalizations and gestured in the general direction of the hatch and hangar. With Threepio’s translation, Leia was informed the rare mar-fruit were overripe and on the edge of spoiling. The fruit that was a relative of the namana fruit, became inedible when frozen, dried or stored–it _had_ to be eaten. Therein lay the luxury of mar-fruit; it was a display of excess to have such a time sensitive consumable on hand. And like its cousin the namana fruit, mar-fruit invoked subtle sensations of pleasure. Not necessarily addictive, but potentially habit-forming.

 

Unloading two shifts worth of food related cargo after a two month supply drought was a literal hell of temptation. When Leia found herself licking her lips at the thought of the sweet, filling delicacy she could recall from opulent dinners as a child–a quick decision had to be made..

 

Then Chewbacca made an elegantly simple suggestion. And bolstered by eager nods from the surrounding ground crews, Leia pretended to grudgingly agree.

 

(Actually, she was nearly bouncing with excitement)

 

Coolly, Leia raised her comm, shifting her datapad to her other arm as she tried to peer past Chewie into the hold. “Get me the cook on duty, the chief of supply and a pair of hangar techs,” she said in her sternest general’s voice.

 

Looking once more at Chewbacca, Leia asked again, this time with a more congenial air, “I take it this has something to do with the luxury CR90 gunship that was just recovered by our border scouts near Anoat?”

 

Chewbacca huffed an answer. Then gargled a query. C-3PO dutifully translated in his prim core-world accent. After a moment, a hesitant smile lit Leia’s features. She indicated the cargo stacked around them.

 

“The fleet will welcome its newest addition of course. And we will make good use of what you have brought us. Oh,” Leia grinned as an idea came home, “–and I’ll ask that you decide on the recipes for the mar-fruits. “ The princess put her hand on the two and half meter alien’s crossed arms. “The cooks will listen to you. Whether they like it or not.” She met the Wookiee’s blue irises. Then they both grinned conspiratorially.

 

Chewbacca woofed a hearty agreement, and promised to participate with an enthusiasm that would put his cynical, absent captain to shame.

 

Where the delicate fruit cargo was sourced from was rapidly becoming irrelevant. Base morale was about to go from the deepest ice tunnels of Hoth, into the stratosphere.

 

* * *

The last of the delayed ships flew in as the kitchen staff were setting up the cooking grills for the barbecues. It had been hours of prep. Chewbacca stood sentry over the bustle of activity, occasionally barking orders via C-3PO’s translation. While most beings ignored the droid, a simple display of the flexing of furred muscle or gleaming fangs put the troops back into line.

 

Leia observed the Y and X-wing snubs land from behind the glass of the hangar’s control center. Clutching her datapad close to her chest, she bit her lip and tensed after each ship’s crew debarked. The Falcon’s captain was not yet here. And though the Falcon’s copilot was thoroughly enjoying himself as the overseer of the upcoming feast, the Wookiee would often crane his neck to check on the incoming vessels.

 

When the hangar doors closed behind that last Y-wing, Leia was holding her breath, shoulders and neck taut with worry. She toyed absently with a stray lock that had escaped her coronet of braids. Whatever she had been ready to hurl verbally at Captain Solo for committing an act of piracy whilst using Alliance resources; had become an overwhelming urge to do something more physical.

 

And whether it was to punch Solo, or hurl her arms around him remained yet to be seen.

 

The glass cockpit of the Y-wing was open, with her two flightcrew members rapidly flipping switches in shutdown procedures. The ship’s pilot extracted herself from her helmet. Shara Bey’s dark locks tumbled out in a glorious mess of sweaty curls. The beautiful Festian pilot turned to speak to her co-pilot briefly before practically leaping out of the ship, and into the arms of her waiting husband Kes Dameron. The couple’s impassioned embrace was cheered and whooped at by nearby hangar personnel and Leia felt that unfamiliar twinge of emotion— envy.

 

She really didn’t want to think about _why._

 

Eyes blurring, Leia was about to turn away from the two Rebels’ reunion, when the black flightsuit clad co-pilot clambered out of the Y-wing’s backseat and slid down the ladder. With laughing assistance from Shara and Luke, the man’s ill-fitting helmet was pried off and the bruised and somewhat battered face of Han Solo appeared–shaking his sweat plastered hair out of his eyes.

 

Without further thought, Princess Leia dropped her datapad on a nearby console and was out the hangar command’s doors into the lift down. She never heard the amused murmurs at her abrupt departure.

 

* * *

Unfortunately, someone, or actually _two_ someones got there before she did. First was a female tech, Lieutenant Van’Dorin, who had previously complained about Solo and one of her bunkmates a year and a half prior. Another was General Davits Draven, who almost plowed over Leia in his righteous haste to confront the errant Alliance smuggler.

 

“Princess, this—“ Draven wrinkled his aquiline nose in distaste. He gestured to Solo with his chin,“ _scoundrel_ you have adopted, has gone too far. “ Two stern-faced military police marched up to flank the general.

 

Just past the side of Draven’s shoulder, Leia could see Solo bend down to whisper into the tech’s ear. Han towered over the woman, his hand braced on the hull of the fighter craft, the smuggler’s lean body at a dangerously flirtatious angle. Another tech approached and wrapped her arm around the first’s waist, laughing at something Solo said to both women. The second tech then kissed Solo on the cheek, then her partner, and flounced away.

 

Leia’s throat drew tight, and she had to swallow before her next words came out in a near-snarl. Her ire from hours earlier returned in full force.

 

“Get him into debriefing.”

 

* * *

 

They didn’t have to put cuffs on Solo. But by the way he complained and snarked, it was not long before everyone in the room wished they’d put a gag on the smuggler instead.

 

Solo draped his lanky frame over the chair. Impertinence in his eyes, expression and an infuriatingly casual demeanour. Leia watched as the Corellian nodded gamely at the lengthy list of accusations, periodically wisecracking about the irony of the wanted criminals in the Rebellion arresting _him._

 

“You’re not under arrest, Solo.”

 

“Coulda fooled me, man. Your guys had binders for me if I didn’t come. Normally I only entertain that kinda request from the ladies.” Solo had the audacity to turn and direct a wink at Leia, “but I’m always open to adventure.”

 

It got to the point that Draven was nearly frothing, and Leia was eyeing the legs of Solo’s chair - wanting to kick it out from underneath the smuggler as he tilted it back insolently.

 

It didn’t help that the entire debriefing staff were missing out on the spontaneous feast occurring in the Falcon’s hangar alcove. Abrupt bursts of cheering and laughter could be heard during the quieter moments. And the smell of nerf burgers, cooked mar-fruit and baked goods drifting in through the crack of the door to set Leia’s mouth watering was more torturous than listening to an hour's worth of Solo’s wise-ass defense.

 

“S’alright if we steal a Star Destroyer under orders. Totally fine commandeering stolen shuttles as long as it’s authorized. But luring away two enemy fleets from your hidey-hole, and gifting a spanky new gunship to you falls under piracy? Just ‘cause I didn’t get a note from Daddy?”Han slapped his hand down on the table with his first sign of impatience “It’s called privateering, not piracy.”

 

“If you were one of us, yes,” Draven corrected. “But, since you are not commissioned by the Rebel Alliance, it falls under the piracy act.”

 

“So, tell ‘em the truth. Jus’ say I did it for her Highnessness.” Han gave Leia a wicked grin.

 

 _What?_ Leia thought, colouring slightly.

 

“Ain’t you hungry yet?” Han asked. “D’ya hear what’s goin’ on out there?” Solo snapped his fingers, “Hey, Threepio, get us some gizer ales.”

 

“Belay that order.”

 

“No? Well, damn.” Han said. “You guys are a bunch of stiffs,”

 

Draven shook his head, “Of all the disrespectful…”

 

And so it went, for over an hour.

 

The first sign of external chaos was a sound filtering in as a distant, heavy thump. As it thrummed through the crystalline ice strata, Leia glanced up to see a wisp of white powder drifting down from a crack in the ceiling. She threw a questioning glance at fellow General Carlist Rieekan, who merely gave her a tolerant smile.

 

“What’s that?” Leia asked as the thumping got louder. It was a deep, rhythmic bass—strangely familiar. But she was exhausted after a triple shift, and really didn’t have all her wits about her anymore.

 

“Sounds like the kids are havin’ fun.” Solo’s handsome face screwed up into a devilish grin.

 

Draven was beyond perturbed, his lip curling in disgust and brows pinched. With a grunt he rose from his screen and excused himself. Rieekan made a half hearted objection as the other general exited the room. The other man merely brushed him by.

 

“Not something he’s going to like.” Rieekan sighed, following his colleague out into the hall.

 

“Go get ‘em, _Dads.”_ Solo smirked at the door.

 

* * *

 

What was happening in the hangar was almost under control, but out of the command realm of a martinet like General Davits Draven. Music was echoing around the hangar, the grills were flaring and spitting grease as the kitchen staff and volunteers strove to keep up with the demand. The off-duty crews were up and about participating, eating, laughing and relaxing. A skeleton crew of sentries and personnel maintained watch, munching on plates of food provided by their off-duty comrades.

 

Draven was as hot under the collar as any of the grills and he sputtered in outrage at his colleagues. “Who—“

 

Leia crossed her arms, “I did. My orders.”

 

Draven soon left the scene. But not before grabbing two heavily garnished burgers and a tumbler of the Rogues’ gin.

 

Apparently Solo’s debriefing was over. And the hangar’s resupply party was a go.

 

* * *

With Rieekan at her side, Leia worked the crowd in the hangar. Many toasted her, all bowed, and the assembled members of Rogue squadron, under the shelter of the Falcon, invited her for a drink and a game. Chewie dished them up two massive plates of barbecued joy as Leia politely declined the Rogues. Spirits were high and bellies were filled, making for a truly enjoyable social experience.

 

Absently listening to a conversation between Carlist and Luke, Leia noticed unusual movement at the far edge of the hangar. She side-stepped away, recognizing the swaggering gait of Captain Solo and the willowy figure of Lieutenant Van’Dorin. Steeling herself mentally, Leia followed the pair, with a terrible heat in her forehead and cheeks.

 

She probably—really didn’t want to be doing this.

 

She lost them at an intersection, until she heard laughter from the direction of the long-term cold food storage.

 

 _Do not want to be doing this,_ a voice nagged in her head as she palmed the door access.

 

Rounding a rack of packaged frozen vegetables, Leia blundered on a scene she did not expect. Han Solo was muscling in a large enviro-control unit, squeezing it into a narrow corner—his belt, jacket and blaster set aside to give him maneuvering space. One of the female techs was occupied wiring the mains, while the other piled a jumble of tools onto a cart.

 

When the work was finished, Han scowled at a stain on his cotton shirt, before addressing the two techs. “ Thanks so much ladies. I dunno how to thank you otherwise. But if push comes to shove, I’ll give ya the blame, or credit.” He winked.

 

“Blame for what?” Leia challenged from behind them. Han whirled around. Then turned his hands to himself in a gesture that said, _Who? Me?_ The techs snapped to an unsteady salute and stood at attention.

 

“Stand easy, and carry on Lieutenants.” Leia was relieved she didn’t find…well, she was relieved she didn’t have to think about what she could have stumbled on here. What she’d imagined...

 

Sliding around the stacks, Leia put down what was in her hands and inspected the stolen...er...liberated control unit. It was an industrial grade kitchen item, designed to keep storage areas at premium temperatures and humidity. She smiled at Solo in appreciation.

 

“It was a luxury corvette gunship with a chef’s dream of a kitchen.” Han exulted. “...now all yours.” He spun on his heel to indicate the whole kitchen area beyond, his arms out. “ Two new Volfe cooking units, a coupla new reheaters, and a bakery-scale mixing processor. Still gotta bring in the crates of bowls and utensils.”

 

Leia placed her hand on her hips, “Surprise for the cooks?” Behind her, the techs wheeled out the repulsor cart of tools and supplies. The double lock of the storage sliding shut behind them.

 

“Call it a preliminary trade for future access to parts.”

 

Leia nodded and Han held out his elbow in a show of chivalry. Leia hooked her wrist through, daring to smile up at him in the semi-privacy of the cold storage.

 

“Deal.”

 

“C’mon, I haven’t had any grub yet.” Han looked around for his jacket. Then he stopped, crouched and squinted through the narrow glass in the door. Leia realized her comm and datapad were missing and they both shared a look and lunged for the first door. Palming it open, they saw the steel and orange form of a C1 series astromech droid plugged into the door control in the hall outside. Han’s palm slapped on the glass as he tried the outer door’s lock. Nothing.

 

“Hey! Trashcan!”

 

The droid warbled up at Solo in what sounded like a lazy challenge. Han swore and wrenched on the door.

 

“Open up!”

 

Leia squeezed in in front of him, standing on her toes to look out into the hall. There was a rush of air and a _click_. And they were locked in, in an area barely a meter wide, surrounded with snow, ice, two durasteel doors, some empty crates and a half-senile droid on the other side.

 

They could both espy the supply cart parked near the metal bracing for the corridor beyond. It might as well be a lightyear away. In it was an assortment of items. Casually draped over the edge, Leia could just make out the dark edge of the cuff of Han’s jacket. And beyond it, the glimmer of his holster rig’s metal fasteners, and – if she squinted – the scratched grating for the microphone end of her comm. Leia heaved a mighty sigh.

 

“Blast,” Han groaned. “It’s got all my stuff.”

 

“And my comm.” Leia swiped at the accumulating fog on the glass. Little if any activity was visible in the hall beyond. Most everyone was in the hangar, and it could very well be hours before the kitchen staff returned for cleanup.

 

Han fumbled through his pockets for anything useful as a lock slicer, and came up empty.Han changed his strategy and hollered obscenities at the robot, as the lights in the narrow door access dimmed, and the ones in the room they’d just left turned off entirely. The C1 droid blatted at Han again.

 

“Are you kidding?” the Corellian yelled back through the glass. “What’s a kriffin tin can droid got to wager with, huh?”

 

Leia began pounding on the door and yelling. Han joined in until he gave up and retreated. The music turned up at a suspicious point, and Leia poured out her fury. If anybody had had the courage, or the sheer balls to stare into that doorway...

 

It went on for some time, and at one point the astromech wandered down the hall and returned a few minutes later. This time when it plugged into the dataport, the exterior hall lights shut down too, leaving them in the dim illumination of the narrow access. Han groaned and kicked tiredly at the door control.

 

“Ow!”

 

The Princess pressed her forehead against the small window. She made another, last, low appeal; the side of her fist making two exhausted knocks on the frame. Beyond, she could make out the lights of the corridor leading to the hangar. Pulsing, multicoloured rays periodically lit up the area. The translucent glacial ice diffused and allowed the light to travel through it – illuminating even the walls inside the food storage with a soft glow.

 

Leia tried to be angry, but venting her verbal fury at a senile and recalcitrant droid was as productive as cursing at the Falcon and her oft-belligerent owner. And speaking of Han...she became aware of a lack of physical presence at her heel. Tilting her head she saw a figure huddled on the ground, perched on his boot heels. Han had drawn up his knees and pulled his arms in. He cupped his hands around his mouth and nose, blowing on them to keep warm.

 

“Your jacket.” Leia realized.

“S’all right. I got lotsa body heat.” As Han spoke, Leia could see his jaw working as his teeth chattered.

 

Leia gave him a calculating look, then she had an epiphany and shrugged out of her thermal vest. Her snowsuit came with its own heating control. It was a minor thing to offer him her supplementary thermal layer.

 

“Oh no. No, no, no. “ Han held up his hands, warding her away. “I ain’t wearing no princess’s clothes.”

 

“Han, it might be hours until the staff return.”

 

“No! Get it off!” Han half-heartedly fought Leia as she tried to get him into the vest. Solo’s shoulders were too broad and he looked at her crookedly and accusingly with the white vest hanging off one shoulder. Leia snorted and reversed a step, considering her task.

 

“It did fit Luke that time.” the princess muttered critically.

 

Han stopped dead, wide-eyed. “Excuse me? Whaddaya mean Luke was wearing your stuff?””

 

Leia sidestepped the question, and pulled the vest off of him and repositioned it over his shoulders, adjusting the fit. “You’re too big-” she started, pulling it closed experimentally.

 

“Maybe you’re too small!” Han retorted, scowling.

 

Leia tore the vest from his shoulders, daring him to carry on. “Say again?”

 

Han scowled at her, then shivered. He swallowed audibly. Peering out from under his wayward hair,  he then rose and bowed unctuously. “So sorry, your Worship.You’re the perfect size. I would gladly have you drape my ragged soul in any of your clothes. Especially the white silk under-”

 

Leia chose to ignore the gibe, and made as to don the vest instead. “Fine. You’re into freezing to death today, aren’t you?”

 

Han collapsed once more and rubbed his face, blowing on his hands. “ M’sorry.“

 

Leia crouched before him, took off her gloves and sheltered his hands in hers. They were chill to the touch. “Han, we can’t leave you like this.”

 

“Someone will be back soon.”

 

“I doubt it.” Leia sighed.

 

“Yeah…me too.” Han shifted some stacked cartons, and pulled out a box. He flattened it, and huddled on top, his feet off the ice-coated floor.

 

“Seems deliberate, doesn’t it? Preplanned.” Leia adjusted the cartons, pulling in the corrugated flimsi ones for further insulation.

 

Han grumbled. “Yeah. And they got the droids on their side too.” He flinched as Leia draped her thermal outer vest around him once more. “That’s Hera’s astromech out there.”

 

“So not just the Rogues again,” Leia agreed. “Seems a well-organized group effort.”

 

Leia tapped her chin thoughtfully, taking in their surroundings. She scratched at the heavy frost building on the door’s small glass window from the moisture of their breath, and considered Han carefully.

 

“Seriously, Flyboy. Can I trust you to keep your hands to yourself?”

 

Han was stone sober, as serious as Leia had ever seen him. “Absolutely.”

 

Leia unzipped her snowsuit, exposing her insulated inner layer of clothing, and curled into his crossed legs. She positioned their arms as to bring Han’s in and hers around to provide a cocoon of warmth.

 

Han remained stock-still in confusion. “Uhm. Now what?” He seemed to be clear on the shared body heat thing, but unsure where to position himself without crossing any lines. “Is this necessary?’

 

Leia wiggled and pulled, until the vest and her snowsuit top spread around them evenly and their shirt fronts pressed together.

 

“Leia…” Han started, uncomfortable.

 

The princess wriggled once more, tucking her shoulder and head in against Han’s chest. A frustrated groan emitted from the center of Han’s torso, vibrating through Leia’s own body.

 

“Damnit, Leia! Stop that!”

 

Leia shifted, trying to find that sweet spot where she could lean upright against him, and not risk falling over if she fell asleep. She stopped when Han practically ground his teeth at her.

 

“Stop. That. “

 

“I’m just trying to stay up, and get comfortable.”

 

“Yes, But you’re making _me_ very _uncomfortable.”_ Han gritted out. “Look, I’ll lean up against the crate. And I’ll hold you up like this.”

 

Twisting, Leia warded off his encompassing arms. “No, Captain Solo. That would make _me_ uncomfortable.”

 

Han raised a peaked eyebrow at her. “Really? Any worse than me tryin’ to stay sane while you wiggle like that on my lap?”

 

Leia made to protest, until Han shifted his hips, grunting in obvious discomfort—

 

And...and she felt... _something._

 

Leia froze. A terrible, embarrassing, _awful_ heat rose in her cheeks, and tricked like lava into her core.

 

“Right.” Leia whispered contritely–electing to remain still for the time being.

 

Eventually Leia relaxed, settling into the cradle of Han’s legs. They sat for a time, talking softly. Han detailed the CR90 corvette he’d liberated; a version of the classic Blockade runners the Rebellion used. They discussed the situation on base the last few weeks. Leia worrying about the state of morale, more so if they were forced to hunker down again and cut off from supplies. Han agreed, and reassured her that the Alliance smugglers were the best in, well...the Rebellion.

 

Han made a cheeky promise to not steal any more ships without permission. Leia chose not to believe him. They both agreed it was a fair assessment.

 

The muted thrum of the party’s music filtered in. Leia found a sweet spot for comfort—Han’s shivering slowed, and he too found a position in which his limbs would not get their circulation cut off. Leia the Princess, would be loath to admit it, but she was secretly enjoying this respite. This forced company; despite freezing their asses off. Han was good people. Abrasive, often offensive, but incredibly brave and so very loyal to those he cared about. She nuzzled closer, inhaling him, content in his embrace.

 

They moved into a comfortable silence, until it became uncomfortable, and then heavy and pensive. It was almost to her relief when Han uttered, “Can– C’n I kiss you princess?” It was a soft rumble, deep and heavy with sensual promise.

 

Leia was unable to answer. Unable to move her thoughts past what his lips on hers would unlock. Would she be able to? Just this once? One taste of warm paradise and no further? Leia was certain if she reciprocated, she was lost. Utterly, hopelessly lost. There would be no way back for them. And she just wasn’t ready for that. The last Princess of Alderaan was not willing to lose another person she lov– _cared_ for. Because she knew she would lose him–eventually, somehow…

 

It was a feeling she couldn’t shake. The way it affected her, terrified her.

 

But she wanted–whatever this was–very, very badly.

 

“Please Leia–“ Han’s baritone hovered at her ear. She wanted–wanted him so much to–. Leia ran her fingers up through the collar of her vest that was wrapped haphazardly around them, to scratch the tips in the soft hairs at the base of his neck. She relished the feel, the texture of the coarser hairs there. Han hummed in response, arching his neck to encourage her ministrations. “ Mm, feels good.”

 

 _Goddesses._ Leia wanted–, needed–, _craved_ this.

 

In the cool, confined air of the entrance they huddled closer. Seeking warmth, shelter and comfort from each other.

 

“Not on the lips,” her response shocking her into a hoarse gasp. It was a pathetic half-hearted denial, but gods… . If she was honest with herself–

 

“Well Sweetheart. That just about leaves me everything else.”

 

“Yes, Flyboy. Yes it does.” Was–? Was that _really_ her own voice?

 

A grin then that she could feel against her cheek. A hitch of his breath.

 

“How ‘bout—“ And Han pressed his lips against her ear. Feathery, light, barely brushing the outer edge. His breath tickling the fine surface hairs. Leia’s fingers tensioned at his neck, curling in to scratch him lightly. Han took her reaction as encouragement and moved lower, nipping at Leia’s lobe.

 

“Maybe. Oh—“

 

Oh Goddesses. She was on fire. She should have told him hands off entirely. This might be a mistake.

 

Mind you...She was fine with learning from mistakes. Especially tonight.

 

Head still bowed into his chest, Leia’s other hand traced the line of his shirt opening, toying with the buttons. Toying with with idea of taking this much, _much_ further. Han’s body radiated against her. The pressure of him against her hip was firm and warm. If she wanted–which she most definitely did–Leia could just reach down, shift and accidentally brush across there...

 

“Leia—“ Han was hoarse with desire. He almost never said her name. Always the nicknames and titles. Certainly, never– not like _this._

 

In a heartbeat she was at his neck, open mouthed and hungrily tasting the sweet salt sweat there. Inhaling the musk of labor and the grease and coolant of his ship. A collection of scents that was all him–intoxicating, wild, and unmistakably _Han._

 

Leia forgot where she was. Forgot who she was. She became heat, electricity and desire. Gnawing, biting and kissing her way up from the dip of Han’s clavicle to the bulge of his larynx. The rasp of his day’s stubble weird, primitive and glorious against her cheeks and chin. Han craned his neck up, face skyward and eyelids shut. His mouth alternating between a smirk and open mouthed pleasure and awe. When Leia reached the peak of his chin, Han suddenly twisted. And Leia moaned in frustration as her lips brushed the corner of his mouth.

 

Han pulled back as far as their heat retaining embrace would allow and fixed her with a confused, scolding look.

 

“‘Thought you said not to–“

 

Head dropping to touch his sternum, Leia fidgeted. “I know. “

 

Han shifted his weight, grimacing. Looking at him from under her lashes, she could see an edge of hurt. They both wanted this. Both almost always at odds with the pain of not having, not giving in, whether or not to be lonely.

 

Foreheads touching, they locked eyes, panting. With aching slowness, Han finally deprived Leia of his glittering hazel irises by closing them. He swallowed thickly, cursing under his breath, deliberately ending the moment.

 

“Kriffin’ hell, Princess. You’re drivin’ me crazy. It’s too much. I’m sorry, it’s gotta be hands off.”

 

“I know, Flyboy. I know.”

 

And for the time being, it was enough.

 

* * *

After luring away C1-10P with the seductive attraction of a confused power droid; Luke Skywalker approached the cold storage door. Scraping the rime away with the side of his mitt, he peered into the dim. Inside, positioned on a collapsed fruit crate, Solo had Princess Leia curled on his lap. His left arm tucked into her snowsuit, underneath her right armpit, and up around her back underneath. Draped awkwardly around Han’s broad shoulders and partially wrapped around them both, was the princess’s thermal vest. Leia’s forehead was tucked in against Han’s collar bone. Her face was hidden in the confines of her snowsuit’s open lapel, and Han’s was nestled in at her cheek. A steady wisp of their shared breath rose out the entwined pair.

 

Luke sighed animatedly, and shook his head. Beyond him was an assembly of a half dozen Rogue squadron members and just as many staff _casually passing by._ As Luke motioned for R2-D2 to unlock the door, he gave a surreptitious single hard knock on the door. Then another, lighter series of warning taps with the Force as the occupants beyond began to stir.

 

When the door slid aside, a bleary eyed Princess Leia was up; angry and glaring in a half-hearted act. While at the opposite side of entry, the violently shivering Han Solo struggled to his feet, yawning and casting a wary look at the crowd.

 

Both walked through the crowd in divergent directions, each stone-faced and seemingly unaffected. Han first plucking his jacket and belt off the supply cart, and handing Leia her comm. Han’s shoulder collided roughly with Wedge’s as he passed.

 

“I expect ten percent. Her Worship too.” Solo growled under his breath. Wedge paled, and shifted uneasily.

 

“Will do Capt’n.”

 

After the pair were out of earshot, Rogue squadron pilot Wes Janson tore up a flimsi sheet scrawled with numbers and announced dejectedly, “Show’s over folks. Better luck next time.”

 

-end-

 


End file.
